


Stars in the sky, you know how I feel

by JaqofSpades



Series: Freedom Is Mine [1]
Category: Revolution (TV)
Genre: F/F, Mood: sexy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-06
Updated: 2016-06-10
Packaged: 2018-07-12 16:19:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7113226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JaqofSpades/pseuds/JaqofSpades
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"It’s so lame to hit on someone at a festival, and she doesn’t want to mess with anyone's good time, but the need to say something, anything … it overwhelms her.   And maybe it’s meant to be, because the woman starts to fan herself with her hands and Charlie just happens to have an extra bottle of water in her hand.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Charlie

**Author's Note:**

  * For [romeokijai](https://archiveofourown.org/users/romeokijai/gifts).



> My first fill for The Orgy Armada's [60 Moods of Summer](http://theorgyarmada.tumblr.com/post/145424509259/your-summer-challenge-armada), inspired by Romeokijai's [Modern Summer Dress Aesthetic for Charlie and Nora.](http://romeokijai.tumblr.com/post/145475814407/theorgyarmadas-60-moods-of-summer-charlie)  
> 

**STARS**

The woman in front is lost in the music, her arms raised overhead as she swivels her hips in something that might be a samba.  Charlie doesn’t know where to look first … the glimpse of sharp hipbones over low-cut shorts, the wisps of long, wavy hair falling out of her messy bun, the dip of her waist and flashes of her profile, or ... _fuck_ …

… the tattoo.

The Stars and Stripes.   Her mystery woman has the American flag inked on her skin, and fuck yeah for patriotism, because every time Charlie sees the tattoo shimmy to the music, her mouth goes dry.  She’s not sure what it means, but she wants to press her lips to every last one of those little stars, and see if they taste as good as they look. 

It’s so lame to hit on someone at a festival, and she doesn’t want to mess with anyone's good time, but the need to say something, anything … it overwhelms her.   And maybe it’s meant to be, because the woman starts to fan herself with her hands and Charlie just happens to have an extra bottle of water in her hand. 

“Here.”

 “Oh God, thank you,” she says, tipping her head back to take long gulps from the bottle.  “You’re an angel.”

Charlie blushes – if only the woman could see inside her head.  “You looked hot.”

The unintended double entendre hits them both at the same time, and the woman’s smirk is so wicked Charlie wants to get on her knees and beg for mercy.  Instead, she shrugs.  “Sorry.”

“Are you really?”

“Nope.”

“Dance with me, angel?“

Charlie moves before her brain has a chance to say ‘slow the fuck down’.  If there’s even a chance for this to end the way Charlie wants, she plans to take it.  She sways in close, the beat heavy in her blood, hips already moving to the same rhythm.  They are nearly the same height, Charlie discovers, her chin fitting neatly into the notch of the other woman’s shoulder and neck, her ear just a breath away from Charlie’s mouth.

She doesn’t touch, not yet, but lifts her face to whisper into the other woman’s ear.  

“Really not an angel,” she warns, and her new friend laughs, and shimmies backwards, the press of skin on skin making Charlie groan.

 

**SWEATY**

She’s wet through by the time the set finishes,  her t-shirt drenched in sweat, her entire body shivering with arousal.  The music stops but they keep dancing, bodies melded together, arms entwined overhead, hips moving in time.

Charlie can’t take much more, every slow press of the woman’s spectacular ass fraying her control a little more.  She unlaces their fingers to slide her hands down sleekly muscled arms, wondering how such a delicate looking woman gets biceps that defined.  Fuck.   Put it on the list of the things she’s desperate to learn about this woman: her name, her mission in life.  What she tastes like.  The sort of sounds she’ll make when she comes.

That breathy little moan is a nice starter, and it just begs for a follow up, the sort of wet, dirty kiss that demands a dark corner at the very least.  Charlie takes her by the hand and tugs her towards the bar tent. “C’mon.”

“Where are we going?” her mystery woman murmurs, and Charlie drops a wet kiss to the back of her hand.

“Need more water.  You coming?”

“A kind angel did me a solid.  But I have ice water in my motel room.  And a shower.  If you’re interested.”

Charlie can’t breathe for the surge of lust, and is too turned on to say anything sensible anyway. She tugs lightly on the other woman’s wrist, and they stumble into each other, lips ghosting, then clinging, then opening to let their tongues converse.   Their bodies are eloquent where Charlie is struck dumb by the beauty of the moment.  Fuck that dark corner – she marvels as the afternoon sun gilds the bronze planes of her inamorata’s face, then reveals the hungry fire lurking in espresso-dark eyes.  Highlights the single bead of sweat working its way down from her temple, begging to be intercepted by Charlie’s tongue.  She chases it, slicks up the path it left, and rolls around in the taste of salt on skin.

The rest their foreheads together afterwards, and Charlie is proud of how steady her voice is when it finally arrives.

“Shower sounds good.  But only if you’ll let me have you sweaty, first.”

 

**LIGHTNING**

They burst through the door, and don’t bother to turn on the light.  The motel was scarcely a mile from the ground, but they’d taken an age to cover it, talking and kissing and laughing and kissing some more. 

 Nora – Nora, Nora, Nora – was writing her dissertation on something about explosives.  Only got home to San Antonio every few months, and really, with her Mom gone, it didn’t feel like home any more.  Was trying to decide between East and West coasts.

“Anywhere but Texas,” Charlie had sighed, and Nora had looked sad, and they’d needed another kiss to chase it all away.  Then the lightning had lit up the sky overhead, and the pregnant clouds chose that moment to burst.

Charlie fancies she can taste both the rain and the sweat on Nora’s skin.  She licks at the tiny pool in the hollow above Nora’s collarbone, then slowly pulls at the strings of the bikini top she is wearing, holding the triangles of fabric in place until Nora moans her assent.

“Please, Charlie.  Touch me.  Taste me.”

“Everywhere?”

“Yes, goddammit!”

Nora’s head thunks back against the door as Charlie tosses away her top, then flicks the tip of her tongue over each newly revealed breast in turn.  Just a taste, though.  A tease.

Because her patience has run out, and her hands are already in Nora’s shorts, stripping them away.  Dropping to her knees.  Picking up one bare foot and persuading it over her shoulder, so that she can feast.  

This time when Charlie flicks her tongue, Nora arches her back and howls like she’s been struck by lightning.

 

**DON’T LOOK AWAY**

“Hey.  Back here,” Charlie says, licking her first taste of Nora from her lips.  She’s desperate to dive in, to see what other tastes she can find, but all in good time.  Right now, she needs Nora to look at her.

Her eyelids rise slowly, and the fire she can see in the dark brown depths makes Charlie growl.  “Yeah.  That’s it.  Don’t look away.  I want to see you come.”

“Then stop torturing me!”

Charlie cups Nora’s mound in her hand, then slides her fingers back and forth, back and forth along the slippery cleft.  When Nora tries to breathe through it, she insinuates them inside, slicking them thoroughly before plunging deep.

“Please.  Please Charlie – please.”

“Please what?”

“Use your tongue.  Fuck me with your tongue.  Please.”

Her eyes are wide open now, and it’s the glint of desperation, the wildness in that dark brown gaze, that spurs Charlie into action.  Without ever breaking their gaze, she tips her head back to tease at Nora’s clit with her agile tongue.

Her hips slam forward in a signal Charlie can’t ignore.  She runs her tongue down, down, making it work in concert with her fingers, all their rhythms consolidated to lick, and then suck, lick, and then suck until Nora is fucking her face.  Charlie gazes upwards throughout, and is rewarded by the frantic dawning of pleasure, then awe in Nora’s eyes.

“Oh my freaking God,” she mumbles as Charlie guides her towards the bed, after.  “Wait.  Shower.”

“Feeling dirty?”

“That’s one way of putting it.  Or maybe I just can’t wait to get you really, really clean.”

Charlie feels pretty damn enthusiastic about that prospect too, but can’t resist teasing Nora one more time.  “Everybody’s got to have a kink, I guess.”

Nora’s giggle is pure sin.  “Might have a few.  Shouldn’t take you too long to figure them out.”

“Why rush? I’ve got the whole summer,” Charlie blurts, then kicks herself for being so forward.  She can’t assume –

“Good,” Nora says, and holds the shower door open wide.  “Let’s get started.”

*


	2. Nora

COTTON CANDY

A girl that young should taste like cotton candy and lollipops, Nora despairs.  Not ten year old shiraz, or fifty-year-old whiskey, not this custom-blend, hand-rolled mix of flavours designed to make her addictive. One little taste, she’d promised herself.  Just one little taste, and she’d send the kid on her way, turn her back on that too-tempting mixture of shy admiration and naked lust.

She’d been haloed by the sun when Nora had first looked over her shoulder and seen her, a golden angel plotting something wicked in that heavy-lidded stare.  She’d been warm, sure, but the flash of heat had nothing to do with humid afternoon and everything to do with the flash of a belly button jewel over lowrise cutoffs.  But she takes the water anyway, grateful, and tells herself not to flirt.

She fails, _really not an angel_ scratching away at her libido until it overpowers her usual resolutions about not falling into bed with people, let alone kids so young they might turn up in her classes.

Because she should be melt-in-your-mouth sweet, with that dazzler of a smile and that unblemished golden skin, but she’s not.   There’s a richness, a depth to her that Nora hasn’t seen before.  Not to mention, one hell of a kick.

So one kiss had turned into two, and two into a frantic stumble back towards her motel, falling inside the door only to have her sweet, cotton-candy girl take charge so thoroughly Nora was embarrassed by just how fervently she had begged.

One taste had turned into turnabout, Nora pushing Charlie against the wall of the shower, biting at her neck, then kissing her way down that delicious spine, sweet with salt and sunshine.  Then she’d fallen to her knees and opened her up below, tongue roaming front to back, back to front, and lingering on every new taste she found.  That first orgasm, so lightly musked, and then the second, a flood so rich it catapulted Nora most of the way to an orgasm of her own.  She couldn’t get the right angle, though, the pitch of her body too steep, her low curses making Charlie laugh with pure satisfaction.

“Bed now,” she smirks, turning the water off and grabbing both towels as they exit the steamy room.  She lays them down then shimmies backwards, arms open. “C’mere.”

Nora moves to crawl up her body, but Charlie stops her with a single finger held aloft.  She tilts her head, roasting Nora with a stare so lustful that her entire body shakes in response.  Then Charlie’s finger inscribes a little circle in the air.  “Turn around, then back it up.” 

It’s a command, plain and simple, and Nora’s knees buckle a little with just how much she wants to obey.  _Who’s the kid now?_

But then there’s a giggle and warm hands landing on her hips to tug her backwards,  the tip of Charlie’s tongue sliding between Nora’s swollen pussy lips even before she guides herself into position over the girl’s face.  She heaves a pleased sigh as Nora settles into place, then clamps her arms around Nora’s butt and thighs in an unmistakeable signal: she plans to stay a while, and gorge herself.

And maybe, maybe, Nora shudders as she noses her way into fragrant heaven, she’s not the only one who is freshly enamoured, a little bit overwhelmed, but thoroughly, irrevocably, addicted.

EXHALE

Charlie snores softly next to her, and Nora can’t help but stare.  The girl is wondrous to her, her face so calm in sleep, her youth so much more visible.

“Twenty-two,” she’d said, and lunged off the bed to snag the sheet and pull it over them.  “Why?”

Nora had smiled, but her chest had been tight and her outbreath had felt like a long sigh.  She tries to remember 22, who she’d been then, but can’t.  She had joined the Army straight out of highschool, let them put her through college, and married a man from her unit along the way.  They’d never seen each other, so it had limped along for more years than she cared to remember, before she’d decided to get out, Army and marriage alike.  That had been three years ago, and she feels like she’s spent every minute since studying.  Not living.

This festival had fallen on a week she had nothing due, and she’s driven past the signs advertising it ten, twelve times before she succumbed and bought a ticket.  The swirl of colour and life, the music throbbing underneath like a pulse, these were the things she had forgotten.  Foregone.

Dancing, laughing, losing herself to the night – that was Nora Clayton living her life.

This girl?  Her face burrowed into the pillow and her legs tangled with Nora’s own and her eyes, opening slow to spark that sunrise smile?

This is Nora, finally able to exhale.

SUNSET

She falls in love between one sunset and the next.  So quickly it dismays her.  One minute, a blonde stranger is handing her a bottle of water, and surely it was just a few breaths later when they’d burst through that door, and fallen into something she never wants to climb out of.

Those first, out-of-control fucks had given way to something more leisurely, calculated, each of them trying to draw out more pleasure, more desperation, more abandonment.  Then they’d slept, and woken to soft touches and gentle cries, emotion made motion.  It would be easy to dismiss this feeling as post-orgasmic bliss, as the rush of compatibility and discovery that comes with getting to know a new lover.  She would if she could, Nora knows.

She doesn’t do entanglements, not usually, but here they are, tangled on the wide, white bed, making plans.  Real ones.

Sunset is approaching once more, an anniversary of sorts, and they’re plotting a route in their heads.  Places they’ve always dreamed of.  Things they need to do.  Festivals, mostly music, but this girl seems to have a thing about beer, and there doesn’t seem to be much Nora won’t do to see that smile.

A van, they agree.  They can carve out three months. Five thousand miles?  Easy.

Nora watches the last rays of orange light play over the multi-hued spill of Charlie’s hair, and knows it in her bones.  They’re going to have fun.  Something about the laconic set of that marvellous mouth tells her they’re going to fight.  They’re going to make love, every little hick town and highway rest stop and big city campground they find.   Fuck the haters.

This is their start, and she’s already turning her back on the person she used to be and living for the journey ahead. 

_fin_


End file.
